


Cabbages And Cylinder Things

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (he is fat and lovely and i do not apologize), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), No Sex, No Smut, Other, Post-Canon, Unabashed Googling of names for French pastries, seriously just one hundred percent soft marshmallow fluff please enjoy, they're ridiculous about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: “Oh, bother. And we were nearly home, too.”“Don’t fret, angel.”“I’m not fretting,” Aziraphale fretted. “Only, those were the pastries, and now they’ll be ruined.”(Aziraphale and Crowley are on holiday. They are very Soft, and there's some banter in between the Soft. That's the plot.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 169
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Cabbages And Cylinder Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the Soft Zone(TM)! 
> 
> I feel like many of us could use some softness in these difficult times, so that's all this is. Just fluff from beginning to end, some number of years post-canon, with two eldritch beings who are by turns ridiculous, adorable, and ridiculously adorable. Everyone's ace and Aziraphale is lovely and fat, because that is my #brand. This is another one with no mouth kisses, too, so anyone who doesn't like reading those will hopefully feel a little more welcome.
> 
> I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale is visibly fat. Tumblr and AO3 user Squeegeelicious has created [this absolutely gorgeous artwork](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for) for my first human AU [If Not Now, When](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936816), which should help you know what to visualize as you read!

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale looked over the railing in dismay. “I don’t suppose... no, it’s probably too late.”

It had rained all the last week, and the little stream which ran near their holiday cottage had grown to a veritable rapids. The footbridge arched high above it, so there was no trouble in crossing, but there was still the potential to lose something in its depths — which had just happened, a group of local children running by them on the bridge, and one knocking into Aziraphale as they passed. It was only a glancing impact, obviously an accident. It wouldn’t have mattered at all if Aziraphale hadn’t been balancing a stack of parcels from their trip into town. The topmost one slipped off the pile and splashed into the stream almost before he’d even realized, and the current had wedged it right between two half-submerged rocks.

“Oh, _bother_. And we were nearly home, too.”

“Don’t fret, angel.”

“I’m not _fretting_ ,” Aziraphale fretted, as he settled the remaining cargo more firmly against his belly. “Only, those were the pastries, and now they’ll be ruined. I’m sure the box is soaked through already.”

Crowley was just as loaded down as he was — possibly more so, since he’d acquired a mystery parcel at some point during their errands which he’d refused to let Aziraphale take. He peered around his own armload, lovely face expressionless except for one quirked eyebrow. “So? We’ll buy more tomorrow.”

“Maryse only bakes her canelé on Fridays.” Aziraphale sighed. “We won’t be here another Friday.”

The eyebrow maintained its position.

“And I do so look forward to them when we’re on holiday.”

“Oh, I know.” Crowley’s mouth twitched. “Hear about it for weeks beforehand every year.”

Aziraphale looked down at the box again, drowning quietly in the stream. Then he turned his eyes back to Crowley. Still standing there, waiting, with only that brief twitch of lips to betray him. He wasn’t pushing on yet, even though he could any time he liked.

“I can’t really imagine they wouldn’t already be ruined,” Aziraphale said, casting his gaze downward. “Still, if you think there’s... anything which might be done...?”

Aziraphale, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate and eons-old ethereal being, did not _pout_ , as he looked up again. He certainly had never pouted in his life, and would not be starting now. His eyes might have widened, though, just a little, brows furrowing. Perhaps his mouth tilted down the slightest bit. And if his head tipped forward, in what might potentially have been interpreted by any nearby demons as a silent _Please, darling, won’t you, you’re so very clever and I know how you love to help_...

All coincidence, of course. It just happened to be convenient that the results were exactly the same.

“Oh, all right,” Crowley sighed, voice prickling with impatience. “If it’ll make you stop doing that.”

He set his own load of bags and boxes down with much more care than his tone would hint at. “Can’t go having an angel be _sad_. Don’t know what the world’s coming to, if there’s _sad angels_.”

His slender fingers pulled a wisp of power upward, and the cardboard box was cradled in his hands. Aziraphale watched as Crowley opened it, tilting it this way and that, making a great show of inspecting its contents.

“Hmm... mille-feuille seems perfectly fine, good luck there... your macarons look macaron-y as ever...”

Aziraphale moved a little closer, trying to see into the box, but Crowley tilted it away from him with a wicked grin.

“Pretty little chouquettes, look at that, like they were fresh from the oven... and...”

He paused, long enough for Aziraphale to let slip an irritated noise, and then his grin turned soft and gentle and terribly, terribly handsome.

“Your cylinder things,” he said, tipping the box to let Aziraphale look in at last. “Not a scratch on ‘em.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replied. There was no sign at all of any contact with the water. The pastries lay nestled within the perfectly dry box, with Maryse’s delightful canelé proudly arranged at the center of it all. “Oh, thank you, dear.”

Crowley scoffed as he closed everything up again.

“You really are so sweet to me. So thoughtful, and generous...”

“Throw them back in,” Crowley grumbled at his boots. “Shut you up, it would.”

He was close enough now to put the box back on top of the rest of Aziraphale’s pile. He didn’t right away, though; it seemed as though he hadn’t noticed Aziraphale’s smile, the smile Aziraphale could never seem to hide at times like these, and now he merely stood and stared with his own mouth turned crookedly upwards.

“So kind,” Aziraphale finished.

Crowley made another scoffing sound. This one was more vague than the last one, and perhaps a little more distracted.

“Really, such kindness ought to be rewarded, but, ah.” Aziraphale jostled his armful of shopping the tiniest bit. “Still, I think my rescuer’s earned himself a kiss, just as soon as we have all these things home —”

Crowley snapped his fingers before Aziraphale had even finished talking, and the box in his hands vanished instantly. So, too, did the items he’d left on the ground; so did Aziraphale’s own cargo.

“What on earth...?”

“Well, you wanted it home.” Crowley’s shoulders undulated in a complicated rhythm. “Home now. On the dining room table, waiting for us. Including those pretty little chouquettes. And your cylinder things.”

Aziraphale turned his eyes skywards for a moment. “You remembered ‘chouquettes’, darling. I refuse to believe you can’t remember ‘canelé’.”

He reached out a hand, though, feeling a content little sound escape his throat when it was taken. Crowley’s long fingers slipped between his round ones and squeezed gently. Tugged even more gently, pulling Aziraphale very willingly into the circuit of Crowley’s other arm.

“I heard something about a reward,” Crowley said. “Only reason I saved your cylinder things, obviously.”

Aziraphale reached up to lay a finger against the side of the sunglasses, then lifted them when Crowley nodded. “Obviously,” he told the smiling golden eyes. “Why, you’re nothing _but_ ulterior motives.”

Once he was sure that the sunglasses were secure atop Crowley’s head, he took that lovely face in both hands, stretching up just enough to leave a single kiss at the corner of Crowley’s mouth.

“Still,” he added, “I did promise. There’s your reward, you old serpent.”

Crowley’s cheeks didn’t turn lightly pink, of course, because the idea that a demon might blush was ridiculous — even more so the idea that a demon might blush at being kissed by an angel. Moreover, when Aziraphale kissed the other side of his mouth, he most assuredly did not turn even pinker.

“Job well done, then,” he mumbled. “Got what I wanted.”

“I’m very glad.”

Crowley drew both his arms around Aziraphale, hands curving tenderly over the rolling contours of his back. He nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck for a moment, and Aziraphale laughed, squirming away, although not far. Not out of that reverent embrace.

“My pretty little chouquette,” Crowley sighed.

Then he pulled back, although only far enough for his hands to find a familiar perch on Aziraphale’s love handles. “Hang on. Spose that means I’m calling you, what, a tiny cabbage?”

“I think that’s the case, yes.” Aziraphale favored him with a haughty look. “Which I suppose I’ll have to settle for, if that’s the sort of endearment you find appropriate...”

Crowley lowered his face to Aziraphale’s neck again. “Angel,” he said, muffled, quiet. “My pretty little angel.”

Aziraphale stroked a hand through Crowley’s hair. His own voice was quiet, too, when he responded. “My darling old serpent.”

Soft kisses trailed up his neck, along his jaw, capped off with one on the tip of his nose which might have made him giggle, if he weren’t an ancient and dignified ethereal being.

“Let’s go home, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled, and caught Crowley’s hand again, and off they went.

Their little holiday cottage was the same every year, cozy and quiet and somewhat more full of books than it was accustomed to being outside of their stay. They spent that evening as they had spent most of the last week: arranged on the sofa, Aziraphale settled in with some light reading, and Crowley sprawled across Aziraphale in a heap. They’d shared some of the pastries earlier. Crowley’s mystery parcel, kept from Aziraphale’s sight all the way up until it was summarily miracled to the dining room table, turned out to contain an excellent dessert wine which paired with the canelés very well. That kind of thinking had deserved another reward, Aziraphale thought. Crowley had seemed more than willing to accept another kiss.

Crowley lay, now, head resting on Aziraphale’s belly, arms loose around his waist. It had started to rain again, and Aziraphale thought it a very soothing sound, as his fingers traced along Crowley’s shoulder. They were inside, and safe, and dry. They were together.

“It’s a bit late,” he said at last, closing his book with a careful thud. “I don’t suppose you’d care to go up to bed?”

Crowley tightened around him for a moment before stretching out loose again. “Awful comfortable here. I might need some persuading to move.”

“You’d be even more comfortable in your pyjamas, wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale worked his fingers delicately through Crowley’s hair. “And I should very much like to hold you, if you’d be so kind as to let me. So generous.”

“Ulterior motives,” Crowley mumbled against his waistcoat. “What’s in it for me?”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “I expect you’re a bit tired of kisses for one day. Probably wouldn’t interest you, offering that as a reward...”

The speed with which Crowley got to his feet suggested that he was, perhaps, interested in such a thing after all. His touch was gentle as he pulled Aziraphale up to join him, though. When he cupped Aziraphale’s plump cheeks in his hands, it was with a touch almost lighter than thought.

“Won’t ever be tired of your kisses,” Crowley said. “Won’t ever be tired of you.”

Aziraphale leaned his head on Crowley’s chest, as the hands slipped into his hair, cradling him close. “That’s something I’m not sure I can ever reward you enough for, my dear.”

“You _are_ the reward, angel. For anything I ever managed to do right.”

Aziraphale’s breathing drifted to a stop.

“...or wrong. Or... whatever. You know what I mean.”

The laugh which that drew out of Aziraphale was somewhat uneven, the edge of his emotions showing through. Perhaps Crowley heard it too. Or perhaps it was only coincidence that he stood quietly, fingers soft in Aziraphale’s hair, waiting for Aziraphale just as he always would.

“Very well,” Aziraphale said at last, tipping his head back to return Crowley’s little smile. “You’ve earned yourself one kiss for allowing me the great privilege of holding you while you sleep.”

“Got what I wanted, then.” Crowley leaned their foreheads together. “Job well done.”

Aziraphale reached up, gently tipping Crowley’s chin to the side so he could apply his lips to one elegant cheek. He ignored the sudden flare of pink which followed. Ancient occult entities did not blush when kissed.

“Now, let’s go to bed.” Aziraphale pulled away, his outstretched hand taken instantly as he led them toward the stairs. “You’ve got any number of kisses coming to you tomorrow, and I want you well-rested for them.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How am I earning those?”

“You aren’t. They’re simply yours, my dearest. Just for being you.”

Ancient occult entities didn’t blush and stammer when told such a thing, any more than ancient ethereal ones pouted. It was therefore something else which happened to always turn Crowley to mush whenever Aziraphale said anything of the sort. A bit of a coincidence, surely, but one Aziraphale was accustomed to by now.

By the time Crowley was slithering beneath the piled quilts, he seemed quite recovered from his ordeal, anyway. He made his usual comments on Aziraphale’s attire, meanwhile complaining about a chill until Aziraphale joined him, at which point he apparently no longer noticed the cold.

The last thing he did before snuggling up in Aziraphale’s arms was to give him one very soft kiss goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I treasure every single one. I've literally cried a few times reading some of the lovely things people have said, and they really are fuel for my soft little heart -- but never, ever required, so please don't feel pressured. 
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too.
> 
> I would never actively request art from anyone I wasn't paying, but if you, the human reading this, were to decide it was worth your time to create fanart based on any of my stories, I would be incredibly honored ([and would love to enshrine it forever on my Tumblr](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-gets-fanart-from-lovely-people))! I have only one requirement: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than the size I headcanon (I need both my soft cuddly daydreams, and my positive fat representation). Here are some examples of what that sort of minimum body size/shape might look like: ([beautiful fanart created for me by Squeegeelicious](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for)) ([speremint 1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([speremint 2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how)) Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!
> 
> I hope you're having a fantastic day.


End file.
